


Cutting for Stone (The Mason's Ballad)

by templemarker



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:22:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1566137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templemarker/pseuds/templemarker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian had built all of his life around the truth of his existence, studying ethics with a seriousness that surprised even his instructors. He had learned as much philosophy as he had Starfleet rules and regulations. He built a foundation for his own moral center, creating and developing it with all the care a young man with a grave burden could devote to it. He couldn't bear to think that it had all be a lie, a lie he'd told himself to sleep at night, a lie that fueled his desire to help people, to serve. To heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cutting for Stone (The Mason's Ballad)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [echoinautumn (maybetwice)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybetwice/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Cutting For Stone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/303609) by [echoinautumn (maybetwice)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybetwice/pseuds/echoinautumn). 



Julian had wanted adventure, fresh from Starfleet Medical and passing his fieldwork trials. 

He had been a fool. 

"I can't believe myself, what I let myself do," he said, putting his glass to his lips, carefully avoiding a look at Miles. Miles never judged him as harshly as Julian judged himself; then again, Julian's standards were his own, hidden and secret. Like so many things were, or had been. 

"You're thinking you're not any better than Sloan," said Miles, perfunctory and direct. It was one of his greater qualities, as a friend and as a colleague. 

It was true and it wasn't; like the proverbial dark mirror, Sloan only reflected back the parts of Julian he hadn't wanted to see. Or that he couldn't have seen, not until the man put him in a no-win scenario. Only it hadn't been the fictional crew, or a handful of protected ships; it had been his understanding of his own self laid waste to desperation. 

Julian had built all of his life around the truth of his existence, studying ethics with a seriousness that surprised even his instructors. He had learned as much philosophy as he had Starfleet rules and regulations. He built a foundation for his own moral center, creating and developing it with all the care a young man with a grave burden could devote to it. 

He knew by rights his genetic tampering was no fault of his own, but he carried the weight of it. 

He couldn't bear to think that it had all be a lie, a lie he'd told himself to sleep at night, a lie that fueled his desire to help people, to serve. To heal. 

Miles tells him about Setlik III again, raises his hands between them as to show that he feels the blood on his fingertips as much as Julian does. Miles talks of brutality but Julian knows it for for what it was: war, and sacrifice, and above all else a loyalty to those civilians massacred, loyalty to see that those who survived made it off-world and beyond the Cardassian threat. Miles didn't weigh the lives of a friend and another against each other and only found himself wanting in the balance. 

Julian puts the drinks on his tab, walks out of the bar when Miles hits a lull in the conversation. Usually Miles is so very good at teasing out the emotions Julian is feeling, putting them out for the air to swallow and pushing Julian to brighter thoughts. But not tonight, Julian thinks; he is broody and silent as he makes his way to his quarters, and while his acute hearing helps it wouldn't have taken an enhanced human to know that Miles is following him. 

He leaves the door open, collapsing on his sofa and thinking about dosing himself into dreamless sleep. Miles looks troubled when he walks in. 

"I've been where you are," he says, frowning. "I won't leave you alone to stagger your way through it."

Julian laughed, a harsh sound in the quiet of his quarters. "I imagine Keiko told you to do that," he said. "It's late. Go home, Miles. I'll be fine."

"She doesn't tell me to do everything, mind, she trusts me to say the right thing."

"She shouldn't trust you with me," Julian says, and is so shocked that the words, the sentiment, finally escaped his mouth that he sits up and immediately puts his hands out, placating. "I didn't mean--"

"Oh, you did, Julian," Miles says, but he doesn't look angry, or offended; he looks as though something has clicked into place, that he's made up his mind. 

"Keiko would say, look after Julian," Miles continues, stepping closer. "She cares for you, as I do."

"Go home, Miles," Julian replies. "It's past 0100, your family is waiting."

"Keiko's a hell of a woman," Miles says, sitting on the sofa next to Julian, close enough that Julian can feel the heat from Miles' skin bleeding onto his own. "She trusts me to do what I need to, when there’s someone I like enough in question."

He puts his warm, large palm against Julian's skin, and it's everything Julian can do not to sigh into the touch. He keeps his eyes open, looking directly at Miles, whose gaze doesn't waver. "You're a good man," he says, and pulls Julian's mouth to his own. 

The kiss evaporates all thoughts of guilt and morality and self-doubt; there's space for nothing but Miles, and through him Keiko's regard. Miles hauls him close, and Julian gasps and goes where Miles puts him. His hands grip Miles' steady shoulders, and he shudders, overwhelmed. 

When Miles pulls back, Julian finds that his eyes have slipped close, that he's leaning still towards Miles as if he's the source of sunlight. Miles is running his fingers through Julian's hair, surely ruining the styling creme that keeps it all together, but it hardly matters. Miles kissed him. Keiko knows. 

"I've a mind to go back to my quarters now," Miles said, his voice rustier than it tends to be, not with disuse but with something else, darker. 

"Give Keiko a kiss for me," Julian says, squashing any feelings of disappointment or regret as much as he can. 

"Do it yourself," Miles says, grasping Julian's hand where it lies between them and drawing them both up. "You shouldn't be alone tonight. I think I'd find you in the shower in the next morning, trying to drown away your thoughts."

Miles isn't wrong, but Julian hesitates. "Please don't pity me," he forces himself to say. The words feel like gravel in his mouth. 

"I don't pity a man for making the hard choice," he says, and punctuates his words with a kiss. 

Released, Julian lets out a breath; a hint of a smile turns his mouth. "You always know the right thing to say," he says, and lets Miles pull him to the door. 

"Perhaps I just know you," Miles says, resolutely not looking at him, but tugging Julian close to pull a tight arm around him as he leads them to Keiko, to home.


End file.
